


Subterranean Homesick Alien

by celiskata



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, DNF, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forensics, Heavy Angst, Human GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Platonic Relationships, Possible Character Death, Possibly Unrequited Love, This is an AU, dream is a humanoid, george is a forensic scientist, i have no idea how this will go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celiskata/pseuds/celiskata
Summary: Had George taken a step back, he would've come to notice Nick unconscious next to him - whilst a humanistic creature with bright, feathered wings, and a polished, yet cracked, white mask with a smile on its front came crawling towards him with inhumane steps.In 1957, George is a forensic scientist, on his first case investigating a crime scene in hopes of cracking the mystery behind psychotic ex-scientist, Wilbur Soot, and his intentions with the creations of his humanoid creatures who he'd later find out were missing children from years ago. Never would the brit find out later on he'd form an odd relationship with one of Soot's creations - later named Dream.(title inspired by Subterranean Homesick Alien by Radiohead)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	1. Laboratory

**Author's Note:**

> Completely inspired from the song 'Subterranean Homesick Alien' by Radiohead. Consider listening to the song! I think it fits well with Dream's POV as I'll instill within the story.
> 
> This is my first time writing an AU and I'm incredibly excited! I've written several notes to format and start off this story so I hope that with my mild knowledge on fantasy writing, jobs within the science/psychology field, as well as all objects and current events of the 1950s is somewhat, if not logical and legible. This entire story is purely fictional and not intended to hurt any of the streamers/youtubers mentioned - as it is only an alternate universe. (However there IS some mild mentions of violence - nothing depicted so detailed, though. Just enough to make a point within the writing.)
> 
> This is also my first time writing a dreamnotfound fic so I surely hope you enjoy :)

A gentle glare emitted from George’s flashlight as he took lead. He adjusted his goggles and turned to his coworkers - all dressed in hazmat suits of white. Phil, Nick, Luke, and Darryl all stared at him equivocally, nodding for him to walk up the steps, and into the home of Wilbur Soot.

Wilbur, previously well known as a bright, brainy, and agile forensic psychologist helped solve several cases alongside lawyers and detectives, was recently arrested by police for attempted kidnap and murder of model and singer, Niki Nihachu, who was cruising the inside of a popular bar only to be drugged by Wilbur himself. Luckily if it weren’t for three strangers catching sight of Wilbur dragging Niki’s frantic and delayed small frame to his car, who knows what the ex-scientist would’ve done.

Since then, Wilbur was arrested by the police and George with his team are assigned to explore and search Soot’s home thoroughly to investigate what his motives were through collection of evidence and analysis.

“George?”

He blinked. “Sorry. Did not mean to space out suddenly.”

“That’s okay.” Phil walked alongside him. He put his arm on his shoulder and squeezed, “I know this is your first job at a crime scene and that’s why we’re here to help.”

The brit smiled underneath his mask. Taking a deep breath, he built himself up the courage to enter the home. 

Opening the door, George prepared for an attack. Wincing and uncovering his eyes, he sighed. There was nothing. It seemed like a regular household, with regular things. He reached for the lightswitch in the family room and turned it on. It took a couple seconds, flickering on and off before eventually emanating a dim light. The group followed suit, looking around the home in hopes of finding anything. Phil pulled out a UV light and shined it towards the ground. Nothing in particular.

The home was a single floor house with one bed and bath. There was nothing out of the ordinary and Wilbur seemed to keep everything in prime and proper condition. George thought it was crazy to think that such an intelligent man could contain a secretive backstory. Or maybe he had a fascination with Niki that no one knew about. It was hard to tell - especially when George worked with him for months before moving onto crime scenes. Luckily enough, George’s first job at a crime scene was one with someone he worked with. It was chilling, to say the least.

“Basement,” Darryl called out from the kitchen. “Could be something down here. Typical, actually.”

Phil nodded, and the entire group made their way down to the basement. 

It was a cement flooring, cold to the touch. The stairs leading to the basement were solely wooden planks, only hanging on by several nails that had been constantly nailed to the stairs instead of being replaced. There were old family portraits hanging on the wall, some through art, and some in black and white film, as well as a few colored frames. An Alva John Fisher laundry machine stood in one corner of the rectangular basement with a basket of unkempt and disheveled clothes. Folded and neatly dried clothes lay on top of the machines. To the other corner of the basement, a table with knick-knacks and musical discs - sided by a large and old fashioned bookcase.

Eerily enough, there was nothing in the basement either. 

“Could he have worked somewhere else? Kept a secret?” Luke asked, looking at portraits of Wilbur’s family hanging on the wall.

“Possibly.” Phil noted. “He could’ve lied to the police about where he kept his ‘things’ as he said.”

George was intrigued. He examined family portraits, little knick knacks, Wilbur’s widened collection of classical music discs, to shoe boxes, and an odd bookshelf of several different novels that the brit had and hadn’t heard about. He pulled out a certain book, however, called I, Robot by Isaac Asimov that had been filled to the brim with bookmarks and notes - only to turn his attention back to the bookshelf.

He noticed there was a drilled hole to the back of the bookshelf. Squinting, George pulled out another book, and another, to see a few other drilled holes.

The bookshelf led to a metal door.

George turned around. Phil and Nick were talking about the portraits in a separate corner of the basement, whilst Luke and Darryl were faced the other direction, talking to one another as well.

“Luke,” George called, “Help me push this bookshelf.”

Luke, having been the strongest of all people here next to Nick, came over and helped George push the bookshelf out of the way. To the right, the bookshelf went, and a door was in its original place. It had the appearance of a walk-in cooler door with a window attached to it. When they peered into the window, it was in dim lighting with several other rooms within the walls.

Darryl, Phil, and Nick came closer to the door and they looked at one another.

“Good on you, George.” Phil smiled underneath his mask. “If it weren’t for you, we would’ve actually left.”

“I was looking at the types of books he had. He bookmarked a specific Asimov novel until I noticed he drilled several holes into the back of the bookcase.” George pointed to the novel, and Darryl picked it up and put it into his evidence duffle bag.

“Anyone want to go first?” Nick said.

George, having kept pride from finding the room’s secret entrance, stepped forward. 

“Are you sure?” Phil asked. To the question being answered, George pulled open the door and was met with a vinyl strip curtain. He pushed it aside and turned on his flashlight despite the dim lighting from the ceiling.

Looking around, George noticed several laboratory objects as well as machines - some George recognized and some didn’t recognize. The entire room itself was incredible. It was massive. In a pentagonal shape, the room was distinguished into a large lab and two hallways leading into two different directions. George and Nick separated with the group to look at the left side of the pentagon. On the far left table, there were intricate depictions of fantasy artwork that Wilbur had drawn accordingly.

“He’s into fiction,” Nick noted, taking photos of Wilbur’s work.

“That’s quite odd.” 

The brit moved down the strip table and noticed a single unmarked polaroid photo album on a stack of books about anatomy, physiology, and such other scientific journals. Within the polaroid album, George picked up a certain polaroid that caught his eye. Said polaroid had a photo of someone’s back - gruesomely stitched with white feathered wings as well as green tufts of fur on its shoulders.

“That can’t be real.” The Texan boy next to him said, taking the photo from George. Nick called the others to the table and each male stood, intrigued, by this long wooden table.

“I suppose that’s Wilbur’s work.” Phil started. “We’d better split up if we want to get outta here sooner. I’m not feeling safe in this basement, really.”

The group nodded, and they configured a plan to cover more ground within the two hallways. Nick and George were to team up, whilst Phil, Luke, and Darryl covered the other hallway. They nodded at one another in the group before splitting paths.

Fortunately, the doors were locked. Instead of finding a key to enter the hallway, Nick used a wrench he brought along to rip the metal door open. 

Nick was the second strongest within the group. He was only nineteen at the time, and had been practicing for the Navy for nearly three years at this point. Luckily enough, with his strength and encouraging ways, he was accepted early on to college in Texas and later on given a job at the L’Manberg Scientific Facility, where all the men here worked. On the other hand, George at 24, spent years working several jobs for his family before accepting a job at the facility after studying forensic science as well as his working towards a master’s degree.

“Looks like cells.” Nick said. “I wonder if anyone’s actually… here.”

George shivered. They looked at the long hallway that remained dimly lit. In almost each cell contained a toilet, a water bowl, and a carpet padding for sleep. It was inhumane.

“This is so messed up.” The brit yakked. “I worked with Wilbur for months and I never would’ve expected this.”

“I know. I’ve worked with him ever since I got here. It’s fucked up knowing someone I used to know actually had this in his basement for so long.” Nick snapped a photo of the hallway as well as one of the cells for later reference. “Do you have your taser and your gun ready? Think we might actually see something?”

George gently punched Sapnap’s shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that, you freak.”

“I was joking, Gogy.” Nick teases. “Let’s get a move on, yeah?”

The two move down the sullen hallway before reaching the end. Each cell moving down the pathway began to deteriorate with each passing. As they went deeper and deeper, the cell bars began to break apart and some had even been ripped out of its hinge. More vines, gravel, and chunks of the ceiling gave into the floor and fell apart. Compared to the entrance, this back section of the cells were incredibly damaged vs. how clean and kept the first bunch were.

To the last cell on the right, George grimaces. He notices a small body laying amongst the gravel flooring, laying behind a chunk of the ceiling.

“Jesus,” Nick frowns. “That’s fucked.”

The two trudged closer to the frame and noticed it was a youth, clothed in a ragged green button up. Short, stubbed horns grew from the sides of his head, along with goat-like ears instead of human ears. George panics. The boy- thing(?) was barely breathing.

“His work was real,” Nick suggested. He picked the small boy up and cradled him in his arms. “We’d better get back to the group. Can you phone them? My walkie-talkie is in my pack.”

George nodded, shaking. Nick turned around and George, although panicked, slowly unzipped his pack and took out the walkie-talkie.

“Um,”

The brit looked up. Nick froze in his footsteps and turned around to face George. “Not to alarm you, or anything, but.” He looked down at the child in his arms, to the walkie-talkie, then back up to George’s face. “There is something staring us down from the end of this hallway.”

George’s eyes widened and he gripped the walkie-talkie tightly. He refused to look behind Nick, fearing he’d see the ‘something’ come closer.

“You get out the gun.” Nick mumbled. “You get out the gun, and we switch. I give you the kid, and you hide in the cell. You call Phil with the walkie-talkie as soon as you get there, yeah?”

George, frantic, nods his head. “In three I give you the shot gun.”

“Three.” Nick starts.

“Two.”

“One.”

George shoves the gun into Nick’s arms as they switch. The child was incredibly light, and George ran into the farthest cell from the Texan, hiding where the child originally was found. He heard a howl come from the hallway, as well as several gunshots firing. The brit heard Nick scream and suddenly, he remembered what his purpose was to hide here.

George laid the child back down as he fumbled with the two way radio before managing to collect the station Phil was on.

“Ph-Phil?”

Almost immediately, Phil responded. “Yeah? Yeah, you’re alright? We heard gunshots and we’re coming.”

“You’d better hurry. There’s two things here. Nick is out there p-protecting me.”

“On it. Will be seeing you soon. Over and out.”

George began to panic - how many times has he panicked already? Noticing the sheer silence coming from the hallway, he began to grow antsy. He stood up slowly and peered out from the hallway. Nick was passed out, head first. Blood seeped from the back of his head and he was lying in an odd position. His eyes widened as he ran towards the boy who protected him.

What attacked him?

As ironic as it had been, George could not continue his thoughts had he taken a step back, he would've come to notice Nick unconscious next to him - whilst the humanistic creature with the bright, feathered wings, and a polished, yet cracked, white mask with a smile on its front came crawling towards him with inhumane steps. On all fours was the monster, George began to shriek. He backed up, tripping on the shotgun. Noticing the bullet holes embraced the humanoid’s skin, George pried the gun from between his legs and fired a few more shots. Seemingly, the shots he pierced into the humanoid’s skin fired him up and gave him more energy. He crawled far enough with the shotgun to make way towards the small boy hidden within the cell walls. The man with the green fur and wings screeched and grabbed George’s arm. He pulled him up with utter brute strength and tossed him aside.

George gasped and hit the wall, headfirst. He cried with agony at his twisted arm, but the pain from clubbing against the wall engulfed it all. As his eyes began to shut, he noticed Phil, Darryl, and Luke appear out of nowhere.

“It’s okay.” Luke and Darryl came to his aid. Darryl picked up the youth, and Luke pulled George up with the opposite arm. “You’re okay.”

George nodded, faintly, eyes shutting and opening all at once. Eventually, the pain overtook him, and he calmly passed out within Luke’s arms.

Before he clocked out, however, the brit noticed the humanoid had fallen to the ground, tased, as other guards and officers came streaming into the cell chamber.


	2. SOS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! uwu
> 
> This chapter was mildly rushed over the course of a few days, as was the first one. I hope to get back into a wilted chapter writing groove vs. rushing plot points into one chapter. I tried to make this chapter longer than the first but it looks like I rushed it too fast. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

George woke.

He was in a hospital room. The brit wore an arm sling on his broken arm. He looked around - noticing the empty walls. It felt odd to be alone in a hospital room. He’s never been. George sat up, back strained from having been laying down for what had to have been days. His head twinged. He’s never felt as much pain as he had just then. Slowly laying back down, the brit shut his eyes tightly, wincing in pain.

Eyes barely opened, he reached around his hospital bed for his nurse call remote. George eventually found it, and called for a nurse. With that and only a few minutes later, a nurse as well as Phil came walking into the room. Phil was dressed in formal work attire as well as a lab coat, whilst the nurse wore scrubs and carried a tray of soup and crackers.

“You’re awake,” Phil said, noticeably stressed. 

“He’s not allowed out of bed for a few more days,” The nurse chimed in. “He’s recovering from a concussion. We’ve to effectively manage it so he can completely focus on your investigation without risking any other brain damage.”

“But if I don’t work they’ll kick me off it,” George says. “It wasn’t my fault I was attacked.”

The nurse stood still, unable to say anything else whilst George went on a tangent about his need to work on the investigation. Phil waited until he finished. “I’ll let Jebediah know. If anything, we’ll put Darryl to work in your position until you’re able to work once again, yeah?”

“But-”

“George I’m doing the best I can to keep you in on this job.” The English man said, staring into George’s eyes. “Stay in bed a couple more days and we’ll see how you feel. You’ll reclaim your position only once your doctor gives you the okay, yeah?”

He nodded and grumbled in bed. At least it was for the better. 

George had a repetitive week of getting up out of bed only to use the restroom and bathe, before returning to bed and lying back down. Not once had Phil come to his room to give him valuable input on the situation within Wilbur’s home with the creatures they had found. Although it agitated him, this probably truly was for the better. If he’d kept a full mind who knows what side effects would come from his concussion. George also wondered how Nick was doing, considering he was way more damaged than the brit ever had been. No one gave him information on anything, and quite frankly it made the brunette anxious ever more.

He was in a blank hospital room with nothing to keep him company aside from the black and white telly that sat in front of him that showed nothing but constant replays of episodes from I Love Lucy or from the Cisco Kid. By then he’d remembered each line. If only he could find a way to change the telly channel, but he didn’t know how TVs functioned.

It felt like ages, but about three days later, his doctor, Puffy, gave him the okay to continue on with the investigation.

Phil entered George’s hospital room as he had begun to dress into the same clothes he wore from the first time he entered Wilbur’s basement. 

“Hey,” George says softly, zipping up his jeans with his unbroken arm.

“Hello George.” Phil said kindly. “You ready to get moving? Much to catch you up on.”

The brunette nodded, and the two made their way out of the hospital. George ducked as he made his way into the passenger's seat of Phil’s Ford Thunderbird. The car engine started, and they slowly made their way towards the L’manberg Facility. The two English men sat in silence, George nitpicking at his arm sling whilst Phil tapped on the wheel. Eventually, the elder male turned to look at George and spoke up, “We’ve locked the humanoid in our psychiatric ward. First room with the padded walls. It’s calmed down ever since then. We’ve managed to use anaesthetics to alleviate its anger.”

“There was a child,” George coos, looking out the window. “What did you do with it?”

“It seems like the child is a he.” The elder male mentions. “Wilbur was kooky. The bureau is trying to determine whether both of these specimens were victims of kidnapping when they were younger, but current evidence and our technologies are deemed hard to prove. They’re working towards finding more clues. I think Jebediah is sending a larger forensics team to Wilbur’s basement.”

“What are we to do now?”

“Darryl and I have come to the conclusion that we should partake at shock treatment. However we’d decided that you’re to make the final decision in whether or not we go on with the treatment. The other humanoid is our main concern considering it attacked you and Nick. It’s avoided all communication and sits in the corner of his room. The child, though, is still fast asleep and on antibiotics.”

“Have you done any basic tests on it? Language? Sight? Maybe tried showing it images?” The brit asked.

The car came to a slow stop as Phil parked into the facility’s lot. As they walked into the facility, Phil answered. “Huh. I hadn’t thought of using images. We could snap a couple photos of real world images and maybe take one of Wilbur to see how he’d react. It’s plausible. However as for language it seems like it can understand us through motion, but he hasn’t made any movements towards removing that odd mask of his.”

George forgot. He wore a plastic white mask over his face with a simple dotted smiley face on it. “Was it sewed onto his head or anything? Wilbur seems like the kind of person to just do such messed up things as that.”

“I don’t believe so, however you can take a look for yourself now.”

The two males went into decontamination before going up the elevator to the psychiatric ward where the humanoid figure was. 

George and Phil made their way towards the room where the humanoid was. They sat in the darkness with a wooden table in the center of the room. On the opposite side of the room they walked into, tempered glass took up the wall - in which on the other side of the glass was the humanoid figure, looking ill and frail as it sat with its knees in the far corner, surrounded by white padded walls.

Jebediah was staring immensely at the tempered glass windowpane which separated the people from the humanoid. From the last time George had seen Jebediah, he looked younger. However it had been nearly four months since he’d seen him, and since then, the American male had grown mutton chops and a mustache. He’d looked to be less skinnier, and more muscled.

“Schlatt!” Phil said, astonished. “You’re here?”

Jebediah turned around. He had incredible bags under his eyes but with the sight of his two coveted employees, he smiled. “George,” He stood up, almost an entire foot taller than him. “I take it you’re alright?”

“Sort of,” George nodded towards his cast. “This is bothering me, though. And you?”

“Oh,” The tall man sat back down. “I’m getting along.”

The three sat in silence as they watched the humanoid make no sudden movements other than its wings dancing back and forth gently. “I’ve been trying to pry at it. No use. It actually attacked Luke earlier when he came to replace its food, but luckily enough we were able to restrain it.”

George stared at the humanoid. He finally took in its features. Or he, maybe. The humanoid was a skinny, yet muscular, adult with green tufts of fur in places where regular body hair was. It had short blonde hair, with human ears. He had no shirt, but had black pants that were torn up. The odd aspect about this creature was its back - wings that seemed to have been sewed into his back. Every now and then, the wings would flutter back and forth as it surrounded the humanoid.

“Weird, innit?” Phil noticed George’s glare on the humanoid. “No idea how Wilbur did it.”

“I’m getting a forensics team to try and find more evidence. Part of the bureau is looking at the evidence your team found to crack at this case. The Asimov novel, the photos, on Phil’s end they found video tapes, surgical instruments, etcetera. I’ve never seen anything like this, you two.” Schlatt was mildly distressed. “George I want you to try and prod at this… thing. Get information out of it. Phil, you’ll help him.”

George nodded. “We’ve decided we’d try to show him images. We could take a photo of nature, natural events, Wilbur, and the other humanoid we found. Something like that. See if its provoked by any of those images.”

Schlatt nods. “Alright. Good idea. I’m going to leave you both up to it. I’ll be in my office contacting higher officials to see if they’ll help or give us evidence on anything at all. This could be more than just Wilbur’s work. Could possibly be an inside job from somewhere else.”

The gathering of images took about half an hour. Altogether the two men took photos from a polaroid camera consisting of cars on the road, trees, animals, the other humanoid specimen still high on medications and in a relentless coma, and lastly, a cut out image of Wilbur Soot from the newspaper. George remained nervous, as he tapped on the tempered glass.

The humanoid didn’t move from his position - head curled within his knees and his wings coating his back as if it acted as his only source of warmth. George frowned. He turned to Phil, who rocked back and forth at a distance from the window, almost as if to give him and the humanoid some mild privacy. He tried again, tapping lightly on the window.

The humanoid looked up, if only for a few seconds, then eventually turning back down. Its wings flapped against his back and the padded walls thickly. It was hard to read the humanoid considering the mask, quite literally, masked his emotions which made their process inevitable. George tried again, tapping a bit louder on the window - not so much to startle the humanoid, but to gain his attention longer.

The third time George tapped on the window, he realized.

Three quick taps consecutively, three prolonged taps, then three quick taps again. A pause. Then the cycle repeated.

“That’s morse code,” The brit noticed. He looked at Phil, who tilted his head lightly as he paid closer attention to the tapping of the humanoid’s wings.

“He’s tapping for SOS,” Phil notes. “He wants help,”

The brunette frowns. “That’s what we’re trying to do. We need him to communicate.”

“Should we communicate through morse code?”

Looking down at the several flash photos the two men took, George shook his head. 

“I’m going to try and go inside - see if I can help.”

Phil grabbed his shoulder, “Are you mental? What if he tries attacking you?”

The humanoid continued its cycle of tapping for help. George falters a bit. “If I can manage to show to it that he can trust me, we could potentially get evidence. If I show to it that I’m harmless, we can make progress. If I get attacked, it's a mistake that I’m willing to make.”

“No offense to you, pal,” The blond haired man sighs, “But you’re an absolute idiot. And a chad at the same time - I’ll leave it up to you.”

George grinned lightly, and stood up. “This is genuinely a risk that I am willing to make.”

The brunette mentally prepared - he took in several deep breaths, faltering in some issued breaths occasionally. He shoved the polaroids into his back pocket, taser in the other, and slowly opened the padded room to where the humanoid sat, crouched and hidden in the corner. The humanoid remained still as ever. George slowly tip-toed towards the blond winged man, eventually kneeling a few feet in front of it.

When the humanoid understood that it was George staring back at him - it recognized that he was a familiar face. He was the one tapping on the window. The specimen took its clenched hands and laid them resting on his knees. His earlier cycle of tapping the padded walls with his wings continued.

Help, it thought. Can’t you recognize it? You were following me.

George took his knuckles and knocked on the floor. Three solemn, short knocks. Three prolonged knocks, then three short knocks again. SOS, he tapped. The humanoid stopped its cycle, and slowly looked up. Its mask remained intact, a place to hide in peace - covering his true beauty within the white plastic walls that acted as a shell to who his face was.

“I know you can understand me,” George began. “I won’t hurt you.”

The humanoid remained, ever so still. His knees were tired, and taut. He wanted to give in - to stretch his arms and legs out. To show his truth as a harmless, innocent, man once turned into a creature. But he stayed still - unmoving like a statue completely unwilling to give into the softness of the scientist in front of him.

“I don’t really know morse code, I’ll be honest. Your taps however, were completely recognizable.”

The humanoid moved an inch, his wings fluttered softly.

“I’m not so sure if you can speak English. But I know you can hear me. You’re not deaf, I don’t suppose.”

The winged man with the mask tilted his head by a single degree.

“That being said, if you can really understand me - I want you to tap once for yes, and twice for no. I’ll be showing you some images. I want you to tap accordingly if you recognize it.”

The humanoid, surprisingly, gave in and tapped a single time with his wings. George sighed lightly. Progress. As he reached around for his back pocket with the polaroid images, he came to the sight that Phil, Luke, and Jebediah were altogether in the dark room watching progress being made. His eyes flickered in the dark room, letting the three know that he was okay.

Pulling out the first polaroid was an image of a tree in nature, flowing within the springtime wind.

“Can you recognize this?”

Two taps. No.

George nods, thus pulling out an image of cars driving down the road past the facility. 

Two taps.

The brit frowned. He reached into his back pocket for the next polaroid.

It was the newspaper clipping of Wilbur.

The humanoid stared right into his skull, waiting for the next image. Its head tilted to the right, as if asking, Why have you stopped?

George paused. He went to switch the clipping to a polaroid photo - which ironically had to be the goat-child. Before he could show the humanoid the image, it stretched its arm out and pointed for the clipping. It wanted to see what it was.

The brit grew nervous with sweat. The photo of the child folded lightly in his grasp. He turned to the window and caught sight of Phil touching the wall and Jebediah and Luke staring off the humanoid’s arm, reaching towards George. He pulled out the image of Wilbur from behind his back, and winced as he showed it to the humanoid.

The humanoid pulled its arm back slowly, and stared. It looked up at George, then back towards the image of Wilbur. If it could hear George’s heartbeat, racing a million miles per second. The two sat on the floor in silence for quite a while, George staring intently at the humanoid as if expecting an attack.

The humanoid’s wings fluttered. Its hands reached for its face. It slowly peeled off its mask - he was a regular man. He had hazel-green eyes, a furrowed brow, and a snub nose. He had eyebags, several cuts, and a looming bruise becoming darker over time.

George’s cheeks dusted pink, fear and trust settling both within him. He looked down at the clipping of Wilbur in his palm, and looked up at the humanoid, who lay still and unmoving. It blinked at the brit, not a single muscle moved. Its wings fluttered softly, padding against the white pillowed walls.

A single tap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :] Next chapter should be out tomorrow. I'm incredibly excited to keep writing and hopefully I'll stop the rush of writing overtime. I'll see you guys next update!!


	3. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Changed my mind about the next chapter update - was pretty excited to release this one as I introduce a few more characters...
> 
> After this chapter I 100% realized that science fanfiction isn't my cup of tea but romance writing is my favorite. I'll be sure to write out another DNF fanfic soon, whenever I get the chance to finishing this one soon or not. Lol! Also ... anyone watched Quackity and George stream Among Us tonight? Currently watching Karl's stream from their raid :-)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter - I worked a bit harder to get every piece right and checked if it was good timing in between. See you next update !!!

A single tap was somewhat recognizable. George sighed as he pulled the clipping away and crumpled it up.

Stressed, was how he felt. He looked towards the window and noticed Jebediah had left, leaving Phil and Luke who stared back at him intently. Watching what George would do next - as if it were an intense scene from the ‘51 Godzilla movie.

He returned his attention to the humanoid. George’s lips peaked at the edges. Its bulbous green-hazel eyes stared right at the brit with an intent for something - but George had no clue. Then again, the humanoid had been constantly injected with drugs to keep him high and unable to attack. He crossed his legs and looked at the remaining photos he’d kept from his back pocket. The humanoid had no interest with the photos anymore, ignoring them from his reach.

“You knew that man,” The brunette said slowly, “Can you tell me what he did to you?”

The humanoid reached for its mask once more, wings flickering back and forth gently. 

“Are you going to put your mask back on?”

Three taps?

George frowned. The male held the mask in his palms before slowly pushing it towards the brit in front of him. For you, he seemed like he was saying, with just his eyes.

The long necked brunette reached for the mask and held it in his hands, examining it. The mask was worn and old. It was a plastic mask shaped and molded in the formation of a rounded bowl, dried blood staining the inside and outside amongst the slits to see through the mask, which also was cracked and chipped at the top as if it were thrown from a distance.

“Are you afraid of that man?” 

Two gentle taps.

“Who are you afraid of?”

George mentally paused - noticing how irrelevant his open-ended questions were to the male. He began wondering how they could gain the humanoid’s vocal attention - that is, if his vocal cords were still intact from definitive years of abuse and captivity. Since the humanoid had answered the following question of whether Wilbur was working alone or not, he’d better tell Jebediah as soon as possible. But for now, he’d better farm questions out and receive answers to help solve further unannounced questions about Wilbur and why he’s got two captive humanoids. The humanoid tilted his head. Not a single word left its cracked and bloodied lips.

“Was Wilbur working alone?”

Two taps.

The brunette backed up slowly and sighed. Noticing George back up, the humanoid pushed his way towards the brit in front of him, and put his hand out. He reached for the newspaper clipping from George’s back pocket, and stood up. George stood up as the humanoid did, his right arm reaching for the taser behind his back. He was in utter shock of how much taller the humanoid was than he - whereas George stood at 5’9 whilst the humanoid was at most taller than 6’.

“Can I help you? Is there a way I can help you to speak again?”

The humanoid tapped his bare foot on the floor once, to indicate yes. George stood still, mask still gripped in his left hand while the taser sat in his right. The taller blond male stared into the window, squinting into the dark room as if he were looking. Only Phil remained, leaned back into his chair.

“Phil? That man right there?” George asked, pointing right at him - which gained a negative and fearing response from Phil who, eyes wide, backed up within the wooden chair where he sat. 

The humanoid tapped twice on the floor.

The brunette scratched the back of his head. He looked at Phil once more and shrugged.

“Did you want Luke? Or Jebediah?”

The humanoid’s wings fluttered at their names, and he exhaled a sigh through his nose.

George was in the cafeteria with Phil and Darryl.

“It looked at me,” Phil said, exclamatory, as the three sat down to a table with their lunches. “Did I do anything?”

George shook his head. “No. I can’t tell if it was looking for Luke. Or Jebediah.”

Darryl picked at his food, “You don’t suppose this really was an inside job was it? 

He shrugs.

The two sit in silence as they ate. George wondered how Nick was holding up from the time he’s been away from the facility and in his own hospital room. He was told that Nick was in a coma from the intense impact the humanoid did, but ever since then, the humanoid was peaceful, aside from attacking Luke previously.

“We need to give it a name.” The brit said, “Something other than referring it to an ‘it’. It’s a boy.”

“My worst nightmare,” Darryl coos.

“Angel,” Phil chimes in, jokingly. “Sweetheart,”

“Dream,” George says slowly.

The two males stare at him, a grin and rolled eyes in return.

“I actually think it’s neat,” The brit shrugs, “Like… the opposite of a nightmare. Like a haunted dream come true.”

Phil laughs and shakes his head. “It’s up to you. You’re the one he’s warmed up to the most.”

“Dream,” George says softly. 

“Dream.”

Niki stared off into space. Becca Minx stood in front of her, arms crossed. The German singer looked at her lover with distraught eyes, feet gently dangling on the floor.

“You need this, Nik.” The irish woman stared into the German’s eyes as she reached forward and swept a line of hair out of her face, “I know you don’t want to. But you’re losing yourself and it hurts me.”

“I don’t mean to,” Niki’s eyes become wet. “It’s just something you’d never expect.”

Niki felt awful. Sick, even. How was she to tell her beloved that she intermittently cheated on her with Wilbur on several occasions? 

But how was she to know that Wilbur would drug her and try to kidnap her as his is what shocked her the most. Then to find out he’d had an entire laboratory built within his basement was an even bigger threat to her safety and mental health. Unfortunately for her she was genuinely going crazy. She’d go home to sleep next to Becca and wake up hours later in cold sweat. She would see Becca’s maniacal face staring right at her - completely void whilst Wilbur touched her shoulder.

“You did this,” Becca would scream, while she faded away. Turning around she would see Wilbur’s shit-eating grin while he gave her a shot glass which she knew was doped. In her mind, she’d howl in pain and would tell herself to stop - but she’d drink the shot glass anyway. And sometimes during those moments, Minx would wake her from her nightmare, but other nights, she’d just listen to Niki’s cries in the night and lay still - unmoving.

Becca and Niki fought several times after Wilbur was arrested. ‘Why won’t you help yourself?’, ‘I’m not going to parent you.’, ‘You’re dragging me down.’ were all phrases Becca had cried in several arguments. If only Niki would listen. If only she’d help herself getting better - but gladly she gave way and went to therapy as Becca pleaded for her to. Their relationship, however, was faltering as Niki kept her disgusting secret. How Wilbur touched her in places they’d not mention. How she claimed she waited on her virginity to save it with Becca but ruthlessly given it to a serial killer. How he’d slide his icy-cold hands up her skirt in the bar so monstrously and she would enjoy it, completely forgetting about her lover at home whilst she claimed she was partying with her team management crew for a good concert after party. How she’d go home that same night, stumbling and completely drunk off her ass smelling like sweat, cigarettes, and sex, brushing Becca aside as she headed straight for bed.

She wasn’t good for Becca, and they both knew that.

However all this time, as Niki proceeded to become an alcoholic, an addict, a sex crazed singer - Becca Minx stayed with her all this time. She wanted to save Niki, even if it took her years. Even if it took ages, she had her savior complex and needed to save Niki as she wasn’t able to salvage her past relationships.

Amidst her thoughts, the psychologist assigned for Niki came through the door.

“Hello,”

The psychologist was a tall, attenuated male with an accentuated jawline and cheekbones, too aligned with stubble growing from the bottom of his chin. He wore a white button up with a checkerboard plaid sweater vest, khakis, and loafers. He walked into the small counselling room and sat across Niki in a brown leather swivel chair, a clip board pressed tightly underneath his arm. He stared at Becca and then towards the small, frail blonde that sat in front of him. Giving them both a cheeky smile, he pulled the clipboard from underneath his arm and read the first line.

“Oh! Oh,” He said, “Niki Nihachu? I wasn’t expecting to… actually have a celebrity as my patient- I-I thought my coworkers were joking…”

Niki looked down at her saddle shoes and frowned. Becca squeezed her shoulder and smiled at the psychologist. “It’s not something you’d really expect on a day-to-day basis. But we figured this would be best for her.”

The psychologist gave her a curt smile, scratching the back of his head and looking to the side to avoid the ongoing and forming discomfort and awkwardness blooming between the three.

“Anyways,” The psychologist reached his hand out to Becca, then to Niki as they all shook hands. Becca, firm with judgement, whilst Niki’s was soft and tired. “My name is Doctor Floris Fundy, but you’ll simply refer to me as Floris. I’ll be your psychologist for the time being, and I’m quite moved to be working with and for you.”

Becca smiled, and squeezed Niki’s shoulder once more. “With that being said, your hours paid for and I don’t want to take up more of your time. I’ll be waiting for you in the waiting room.”

Niki gave her a sharp smile, almost as if to say, don’t leave me here. I’m afraid. Becca, in return, gave her an unforgiving frown but kissed her cheek to say her goodbyes for the hour. “Good luck, you two. It was nice meeting you, Floris.”

Floris waved goodbye, and waited until the door clicked behind the Irish woman.

“So,” Floris sighs to start. “Let’s begin, hm?”

“Dream?”

George grins. “Yeah. The opposite of a nightmare… or more like… a haunted dream come true.”

Jebediah rolls his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. “No offense, Davidson, but that was dog shit.”

Phil laughs next to him, and proceeds to sign papers for other investigations and jobs he’s assigned to. “I just went with it since he gained ‘Dream’s attention.” He handed the papers to Jebediah, “Lord, I’ll have to get used to calling him Dream.”

“At least keep it for comical relief,” George groans. “I refuse to give him some name like … patient one-two-four-eight-seven-million-billion… ‘ka-jillion’.”

Jebediah laughs. “Fair enough, fair enough.”

The brit grins.

“By the way, I’m proud of you for getting at least some information out of Dream. Even if it’s small, it’s still useful information.”

George nods, fumbling with his fingers. He was wary about telling Jebediah the full details, keeping how Dream looked into the dark windows as if he were looking for his boss or Luke, even. A little part in him wanted to keep the secret to himself, to figure out the mystery behind the laboratory and Dream’s kidnapper to himself and be popularized as a celebrity for solving it. He could at least be a little selfish - right? He did get himself knocked out for a couple days for the facility.

“By the way,” The man with the mutton chops leaned back. “We’ve got FBI scan prints in return. Looks like ‘Dream’ has close traces of DNA related to a missing child taken when he was six - Clay. This could mean Dream is 21 … as for the child, no one knows.”

George frowns. “Clay?”

Jebediah nods. “We’re still looking for more information. As far as I might know, this was definitely an inside job.”

“You want to try calling him Clay? or Dream?”

“I’ll try both?” George says, “However I don’t exactly want to overburn him. Stress him out? Or maybe he just won’t understand.”

George makes way into Dream’s padded room. The humanoid had the mask lying next to him. He - or Dream - stared at his feet. When Dream noticed George’s arrival, his wings fluttered as if he were saying hello.

The brunette grinned. “Hello.”

The winged human crawled from his corner to the center of the room and looked up at George with tired eyes.

“I have a nickname for you. I hope you wouldn’t mind hearing it.” George says, “I also have another name in particular that I’m not too sure how you’ll react to it.”

Dream nodded slowly, burnt out green eyes staring intently at the humans. It felt as if Dream was so desperate for human interaction despite being high on drugs constantly so he doesn’t attack anyone else.

“Are you ready?”

A single tap.

“I’m going to call you Dream from now on,” George tells him. “Everyone thought it was silly, but I thought it would be a nice nickname.”

Another single tap.

The brunette grinned. “Okay.”

Again, another tap. Dream stared at George, as if a light flickered within his eyes. From the corners of his lips, a smile started to form. It made the both of them feel a bit younger again. “I have another name for you … mainly to see if you recognize it or not.”

A tap.

“Clay?”

“I do have some starter questions to ask you, it’s typical precaution to ask the patient these questions instead of heading straight on.” Floris pauses. “You’ll have to answer with yes or no and some open-answer questions.”

Niki sighs and leans back in her chair. “Alright.”

Floris raised an eyebrow, and also leaned back in his chair. “What leads you to therapy?”

“My girlfriend told me to do it after … being attacked.” Niki started. “Our relationship is off the rails at the moment and if it means to bring us closer again, then I’ll do it.”

The tall Dutch man nods slowly. “What do you think caused the relationship to fail?”

Niki shifts in her seat, switching the leg crossed over the other. “I.. It was my fault. If I hadn’t agreed with him to go to the bar, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I’m an addict. I use, way too much.”

Her mind shifted to Becca, whose eyes looked tired and strained all day today. Pulling Niki out of bed must’ve been tiring as she’d stayed still. She hid under the covers all morning, having not eaten since yesterday morning. Becca used all her leftover might to simply bring Niki to therapy, and even then, she was pulling a struggle on her.

“Who’s ‘him’, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The drive home was tiring. 

Niki sat in the passenger’s seat as Becca drove them home with the radio off. The only sounds surrounding them emitted from the engine as well as the occasional taps of the wheel as The Irishwoman drove them home. 

“How did it go?” Becca asks softly. 

“It wasn’t awful,” Niki responds, “I was able to revisit some old memories. Understand some things.”

Minx smiled. “That’s really good, you know. I’m glad you’ve opened up to someone at least.”

Niki felt the hurt in her voice. She couldn’t imagine how therapy works. How your lover could trust a stranger than someone she’s known for a year and a half at most. However at the same time it made sense. Truthfully Niki felt more peace talking to a stranger about her emotions and receiving unbiased advice in return. 

When the two got home, Becca went back to the home she’s made in Niki’s living room. In which the two used to share a bedroom, but Minx wanted to avoid getting into another argument so she left their room for an undetermined amount of time. Niki slowly made her way into the apartment, and shut the door with a light click. She looked at Becca, who sat on the couch taking her moccasins off.

“Becca,” 

The taller girl looked up to face her lover. 

“Come to bed with me, yeah?”

“Are you sure?”

Niki nodded. 

Becca stood up, walking towards Niki. She wrapped her arms around the smaller girl and stared into her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Niki says, her arms going to Becca’s cheeks. She pulls her lover into a swift and soft kiss - two chapped lips touching one another. They grinned and pulled back.

“Surely you have some lip balm in your room we could both use?”

Niki giggled, and pulled Becca into their room.

What once was, was.


	4. Taser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the other end of the glass window, did the two men hear the sound of a taser going off, and a body falling to the floor.
> 
> Jebediah stares at Phil, an awful grin on his face.

“I don’t understand how electroshock therapy would do him any good.” Phil mumbles.

Jebediah flips around. Both Phil and Jebediah were currently watching George interact with Dream. So far, so smooth. The brown haired boy was currently distracting Dream from real world issues, currently seemingly to have been asking him questions to which the humanoid would respond by tapping the floor with his index and middle finger. George seemed content with their way of communication, and so did the humanoid.

“Phil, electroshock therapy has so many good things to it.” The mutton chopped man said. “He’s already too far gone… what’s that called? Psychosis? The fucking wings are weird too. If we treat his brain maybe we can bring him back to life. To humanity. Get him to talk.”

“That could kill him,” The blond said, afraid of Jebediah’s interest in electrocuting the humanoid. “It’s not even legal. I don’t know why this facility decided to do it in the first place.”  
Electroshock therapy wasn’t a known thing to the world, yet.. It was only brought to the attention of the facility under Jebediah’s family members, who had founded the facility years ago in collaboration with the FBI.

“It’s worth a shot. We still have that kid.”

Phil stares, disgusted. “It’s a child, you sick fuck.”

To which their conversation ended, and on the other end of the glass window, did the two men hear the sound of a taser going off, and a body falling to the floor.

Jebediah stares at Phil, an awful grin on his face.

Minx’s cold arm reached and wrapped itself around Niki’s small frame. She shivered to the touch, and she felt the Irish woman chuckle breathily.

“I’m cold, aren’t I?” Becca said softly. She pulled aside Niki’s hair and pressed soft kisses into the German’s neck. Niki melted into them, and left a soft ‘hmm’ to respond. The Irish women continued peppering kisses all throughout her neck and sighed softly. “I love you, Nik.”

Niki paused, her heart beating quickly. She pulled away from Minx before flipping over in the bed and faced her so called lover, “I love you,”

Becca, eyes tired, gave her a bright smile. “I really thought I’d lost you, for a while. It feels really good to hear that, you know?”

“I know. Let’s get some sleep, yeah? I’m tired.” Niki said softly, nuzzling deep within Minx’s shoulders. “Today was something new.”

“I know,” Minx said. “You know… that was my first time with anyone, too.”

Niki looked off onto the edge of their bed, and she felt cold - not on the outside too specifically, but on the inside.

George pants. The winged humanoid lay flat first on the floor, twitching ever so softly. The taser sat in his hands, aimed still directly at the area in which Dream stood. His eyes remain wide, heart beat moving at nimble speed, and his ears ringing in his ears. He dropped the taser to the side, and kneeled himself to the ground. Dream’s eyes were as wide as George’s were, moving lethargically as he twitches constantly. The humanoid’s wings fluttered erratically, as did the brit’s heart.

“What did you say?” The brown haired boy said, frantic.

Dream looked at George with tired eyes, both hurt and enthralled with anger at the voice of hearing, possibly, his own true name. The brit wasn’t sure what to expect. The humanoid’s lips opened and closed, seemingly like a fish breathing rich oxygen in hopes of getting water, but failing. In moments, Jebediah and Phil came bursting into the room and had heard an automatic “Oh my God,” emit from Phil’s mouth.

“What the hell, Davidson,” Jebediah groans. He crouched to reach level height with George despite being a few feet taller than him. The humanoid squinted at Jebediah, before eventually shutting his eyes. Thankfully, Dream was alright. There wasn’t truly a way to go unconscious from being stunned, but the sudden attack as well as the high dosage in nitrous oxide had to have made a huge impact in Dream’s sudden unconsciousness.

“He tried attacking me,” George freaked so suddenly. “Don’t put this on me. I tried.”

Jebediah sighs, and prods the limp humanoid. “Alright. Phil we’re gonna do it.”

George looks at the man, with quizzical eyes. “What? What’s ‘it’?”

Phil steps out of the room with a frown. “George has only started communicating with Dream. Why do you so badly want to use electroshock therapy?”

The brit’s eyes widened and shook his head, putting his arm over Dream’s sullen frame - who was breathing softly as he fell to a soft slumber. “I’ve only spoken to him twice. We haven’t gotten any information from him - aren’t you rushing everything a little bit too fast, Jebediah?”

Schlatt grunts and pulls himself up from his crouched position. “We want information now. Why wait? Wilbur’s on death row. They’re gonna kill him.”

“Are we not going to question him further?” George asks, “There’s so much I could prod from him.”

“With what information?” Jebediah groans. “You’re just playing with it. What - do you like Dream?”

The brit pauses and tilts his head, confused. “You’re pushing it too far. We don’t have enough information so I’m just gaining his trust.”

Phil interrupts. “Can we discuss this outside? Leave Dream be.”

Jebediah grunts and nudges for George to exit Dream’s room. “We can figure this out later.”

George looks at Dream one last time, his green abled eyes shut with distaste. He realized that Dream’s lashes were long, his cheeks dusted with freckles despite the faint cuts and stitches here throughout. His lips, plump and pink - chapped and dried blood resting on the corners. He wondered what Dream sounded like. 

“George?” 

The brit looks up and sees Jebediah had already left the room, leaving George staring at the humanoid as Phil stared at him with worry. “You’re alright?”

George stepped out of the room, and nodded. He refused to take a last look at the humanoid, embarrassed they left him in such a state. Angry at himself for tasing Dream. George only said Dream’s possible name - Clay. He didn’t expect the humanoid to stare at him with wild eyes, a small “George?” coming from his lips. To be fair, George feared for his life. How long had Dream been able to speak? Could he have been lying to him the whole time?

The thoughts washed his head when he came into the main room, and he took sight of a fellow coworker, Alastair, holding up a toddler’s arms as he taught him to speak. The nubbed horns protruding from the toddler’s hair, was something else, though.

“‘He’... was Wilbur.” Niki drawled, and looked right through Floris’ eyes. The psychologist’s lips pierced to a sharp thin line. Oh.

“It’s awful, I know.” The singer mumbles. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is it just your sexual urges that bother you?” Floris says. He feels the thickness in the air and becomes nervous. He looks everywhere around her, but refuses to meet her eyes. He’s not talked to a patient about their sexual needs and urges at all before - his only skill was to work with emotions and figuring out how to deal with such situations. Niki leans back in her chair and crosses her arms.

“What’s it to you?”

“I…” Floris pauses. “I can imagine you returning to the bar frequently. Waiting for Wilbur, am I correct? You left home from Minx and gave her a fabricated tale about work when in reality you were meeting with this… monster?”

Niki’s eyebrows scrunched together. She looked ready to stand up and reach over to his face, ready to give him a slap on his cheek. She looked astonished, but laid no touch or movement. It seemed that Floris was right, and was picking at an empty spot in her skull. He reached the thicket and had to discover what other issues there were that she had.

“Niki?”

The blonde’s scrunched eyebrows eventually tilted into a saddened face. “Well … when you put it like that I sound awful.”

“Don’t you feel awful?”

Niki’s eyes panicked, as she looked at Floris with sudden and scared eyes. What sort of psychologist would ask her such questions? Make her feel even more guilty than she truly was? The brown haired male contemplated. He itched the scruff on the bottom of his chin and leaned towards her, his clipboard tight against his chest. “Niki, I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re shit.” Niki started. “You’re shit at your job.”

Floris leaned back, but in turn, Niki leaned forward. Her acrylics pressed against the couch she sat on tightly, red painted nails staring at him angrily. “We’ve been here only twenty minutes and you’ve done nothing but degrade me and make me feel shittier than I am. What a waste of money this is, yeah?”

The foxy male smirked lightly and crossed his arms. He put his clipboard on the coffee table that sat between them and leaned towards her as well. “Niki, you may just well be a voguish celebrity but in this scenario, I am your superior. I’m here to help you, and I’m just paid by the hour. You can spend the next forty-sum minutes complaining about my techniques in helping you and I can just sit here, watching. Or we can make progress.”

Niki’s cheeks tinted red. She leaned back a little bit slightly, but in turn put more force in her stance and leaned in even further so that she could nearly feel the tip of Floris’ nose against hers. “Progress?”

“Progress.”

It wasn’t minutes later that Niki ended up crawling over the coffee table, sitting herself atop the Dutch psychologist, feeling each other’s clothes and waistbands - skins touching one another’s.

To be fair… what once was, was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone!  
> Sorry this update was so late, hope you can understand. Had a bit of a writer's block so this chapter was a little bit difficult to create, but hopefully I'll be up to date soon. I apologize for the lack of creativity in this chapter, but I'll be sure to get back on top soon. :)
> 
> See you all next chapter!


	5. Backroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Irish woman stays in her car, hoping Niki would come back one more time for a quick cheeky kiss before she went to her appointment, but was felt with mild sadness when she noticed her lover gave her a joking salute, before walking into the office. It looked like she had an amiable skip in her step, too.
> 
> Not even an ‘I love you’, either.

A grunt emitted from his throat.

Nick’s eyes blinked wide open as he realized - he was awake. And in a hospital room, too.

A hospital room?

The male promptly sits up - feeling incredibly sore and numb in several places if not his tush. He takes a glance around his empty room, and notices nothing out of the sort of a regular hospital room but a vase of dried flowers. He picks up a crisp carnation petal and squeezes it lightly in his palm, hearing the sweet, soft, crunch melt in his pale, dusty hands. Not a single glass of water in sight, nor a person within earshot. Unless people were dead silent, then Nick wouldn’t know. He huffs, debating on whether it would be a good idea to climb out of bed or lean back until someone comes and visits him. 

Nah, he’ll get up. 

On the count of three, the boy pulls himself up slowly. He felt like an old man - struggling to make way with his weak bones. He stretches, a soft groan escaping his lips … boy, he hasn’t been up and at ‘em for a while, huh?

“Hello?” He croaks. The boy looks down and notices he’s in a hospital gown, flowing against him freely. Smirking, he sways himself back and forth and feels the breeze. Childish he still was, for Nick was only nineteen. To his question, nothing but deadbeat silence ensued. He couldn’t find a nurse call remote either, so he pondered for a few minutes before sturdily making his way to his hospital room bathroom.

Nick begins by rinsing his face off in the sink and upsettingly drinks the sink water - pushing back a gag in his throat. Soon as he rinses himself off, the boy wipes his face with his hospital gown and stares at himself through the mirror on the wall. A beat up, stale, and drained boy stares back at him with hazel-green eyes. A bandage sits tied upon his head, thickets of hair peeping on top of it. His eyes, tired as ever, sits on a faded bruise - one which used to be purple but remains a silky red to remain. His pink, plush lips, now chapped, began to sprout dots of blood for each lick of the lips.

“Fucking hell,” The male says, astonished at who stood, staring back at him in the mirror. Nick proceeded to take a shower using the cramped shower stall, and was found reimbursed with a towel sitting on the sink. He sidestepped, eyebrows furrowing to a sharp line. Was that there before?

He, slowly, in all his glory, slowly reached out to the towel and wrapped himself around it. A thick, white towel, sat wrapped around his waist. Nick took his hospital gown and shuffled back into the hospital room, to find himself rethinking his steps. A set of clothes, if he had remembered correctly, sat on his bed - the same ones he wore to Wilbur’s house before hastily being attacked by sheer force to an inhumane creature. The Texan man scratched at his wet head softly, abruptly wincing at the mild agony tensing up the side of his cranium from the attack.

“What the hell?” He mumbles, unfolding the set of clothes. It didn’t smell like anything, per say. Rather, it smelled like the hospital room he stood, confused, in. Last thing he recalled, he was definitely in these clothes - a white cartoonish tee with a flame printed on it, a black jean jacket, and blue jeans. These were most definitely his clothes, which made the situation all the more disconcerting.

To avoid melting down, the boy dries himself off and puts on his clothes. He returns to the bathroom, to put his towel on the rack, before noticing his loafers sat leaning against the bathroom wall, as well as a fresh toothbrush sitting on the sink top. Confusion strikes his head, and he begins to wonder what was going on. Maybe it was his brain playing games with him, but it surely wasn’t funny anymore. Maybe there were such things as after-coma side effects that tricked your brain into seeing and not seeing certain things? For this situation, he was confused thoroughly.

Nick flipped his towel onto the rack gently and pulled his shoes and socks on. Hesitating, he took the toothbrush and began brushing his teeth clean with the toothpaste sitting on the counter top as well. He didn’t know what to expect, but the complete silence in this hospital room made him go mad to the bone. Was someone leaving him these necessities to make him follow them blindly? No. Nick, at this point, was making up theories to keep himself sane. There wasn’t a single technological device in sight - not a single handheld transceiver, sounds of music, or a telly in sight or earshot. It was slowly bringing him mad that the only sounds he could hear came from himself. When he finished tidying up, he slowly peaked out into the room and wondered if any other gifts came sitting for him in his room.

Nothing. The boy took a gander, and looked around his empty room. A pale, mono-yellow wallpaper thoroughly stunk of old-moist carpet, the yellowing ceiling lights emitting nothing but a starch light, forever beaming at a pace with complete silence. Nick sighed and took it upon himself as a reason to leave this silent room. Maybe, when he’d exit, he’d come across a nurse or doctor to check himself out. Or maybe he’d find George, Phil, or Luke to talk to. Find a sense in familiarity.

When the Texan opened his hospital room door, he was met with a blank, and empty hospital floor. Not a single person in sight. Only a weird sense in familiarity - the same pale, mono-yellow wallpaper, a hum-buzz of fluorescent lights sinking in from the ceiling, and the stench of old-moist carpet grew stronger in the hallway where he stood.

A frown tilted his once soft smile, and he sighed.

“I need a smoke,” Nick thought aloud, before promptly shutting the hospital door behind him, and jumpstarting his walk across the empty hallway, completely unaware of the soft footsteps padding towards him slowly.

“Isn’t he just a cute one, eh?” Alastair grins. He gently takes hold of the toddler’s arms, as it pads against the floor with soft, bare feet.

George’s expression turns from bewildered, to gentle. He lets his index finger grow closer to the small child, and it stares at the finger, simply confused at the image of a finger in its face. Eventually, it lets out one hand from Alastair’s grip and thus takes a hold of the brit’s finger. George crouches down to the toddler’s level and is met with the face of a regular boy who just so happened to have horns growing from its skull. Sharp canines gently protruded from his mouth, and there did George realize that the toddler had incredible grip, with sharp and fast growing nails as well. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I am quite scared being this close to this thing.” George says, as calmly as possible.

“He won’t hurt you,” Alastair calmly hums, accentuating ‘he’. From there, the brit also says a soft ‘he’ under his breath.

Phil comes up from behind them and lets out a soft hum, too. “You guys best be careful. Who knows what he’s capable of.” The elder stands at a fair distance, “Dream just attacked George.”

The brown haired brit frowned, to which the other brit, Alastair, took note of. George stood back up, as did Alastair, who looked at the boy suspiciously. The brit looked down at the toddler nervously, who put his thumb into his mouth whilst the other hand was still tightly gripped onto Alastair’s finger. Phil begins to walk off, and George and Alastair are left alone but public while other workers buzz around them, working with other civil duties or cases as George had been.

“You’re a bit odd today, Davidson.” Alastair comments. “But I won’t pursue it. Everybody’s got their own secrets to attend to, yeah?”

George nods slowly and keeps his distance and eyes straight on the little boy. Noticing George’s discomfort, Alastair changes the conversation to a minimum small talk until the other boy excuses himself. “I’ve ultimately decided to name this little one ‘Toby’,”

“What?” George questions quizzically, “Did you say ‘Tubbo’?”

Automatically his mind came from Dream, hearing the words ‘Tubbo’ escape Alastair’s lips. Only to receive a quick, gentle laugh back, the man shakes his head. “No, I said Toby.”

“Toby,” George repeats. “However, Tubbo is a sweet nickname for him.”

Alastair agrees, and chuckles as ‘Tubbo’ begins to scratch at the curly haired man’s pant leg. “I’m off to go put Toby to bed, I believe. He’s been up for a whopping three hours - can you believe it?”

George gives him a kurt smile and nods off, as Alastair slowly walks the little boy with the horns back to his excluded room. Alastair knew George was hiding something, and that sort of made him afraid. Would he leak the tale to Jebediah - that George knew something he didn’t? Hopefully not, but only time would be able to tell this tale between them.

Whereas George pondered over to Phil’s room, he was caught off guard by the boisterous voice of Jebediah, pounding at him from a few feet away.

“Davidson - you come into my office, now.”

“Another day, yeah?” Minx says brightly.

“Yeah,” Niki says, to much surprise, with the same energy Minx had given off.

The two have incredibly bettered their relationship, having sex on and off every few days and Niki being completely worn out on some days. To Niki’s surprise, Minx didn’t catch her offsetness and continued on with her happy journey as she believed this relationship was hung up once more - this time, by coils of hot glue and love. However, Niki felt like she was tampered on the wall, defaced by a psychologist she claimed were his own, when in formality Minx knew only of their professional relationship.

Floris and Niki decided on a biweekly schedule, to which they’d meet twice a week versus once every two weeks - prescribed by Floris to Minx stating that Niki would need more evaluation. Once on a Wednesday, and the next on a Sunday. It was naughty, of course, but it was what somehow kept their relationship blooming, and Niki to be extremely happy with where she was. Truthfully, she felt her problems and issues fading everytime she landed in a soft embrace of her idle framed Dutch man.

“Niki?”

She blinked. Minx pressed a hand to her thigh and the blond looked around - thus realizing that they sat at the office parking lot. It was her time to shine, thought Niki.

“I know I say this one too many times, but,” Minx pauses, before taking her soft grasp on Niki’s hand to her lips, a soft kiss pressed into the back of her hand … a pinkish-purple lipstick stain lingered on her hand, and Niki smiled at her. “I am so proud of you for going to therapy.”

“I know you are.” Niki says, pulling her hand away as she opened her side of the car door, admiring the way Becca’s lipstick pressed a smooth and soft implant into her delicate skin. The Irish woman stays in her car, hoping Niki would come back one more time for a quick cheeky kiss before she went to her appointment, but was felt with mild sadness when she noticed her lover gave her a joking salute, before walking into the office. It looked like she had an amiable skip in her step, too.

Not even an ‘I love you’, either.

Nick frowns. 

Have I walked here before?

Looking around the hallway, he scratches his head one more time. Losing a sense of direction, the Texan grunts in anger as he forgets which direction he came from. The male had a killer headache, and the lack of a food source made him much more angrier. 

“Hello?” Nick groans, turning side to side. 

On one occasion, he managed to find himself walking towards a nurse’s front counter - a computer with three monitors sat in front of it with a telephone in the general area of the desktop. He sighed in relief when he found it, but eventually came to the conclusion that he couldn’t remember a single phone number at all. 

Looking around the desk, he searched through several documents of paper only to merely discover that each document wasn’t even a document in itself, but blank sheets of construction paper. What a good filing system this hospital had, not jack shit sitting in any binder or folders. What sucked the most was that the computers did not work, and someone happened to cut the telephone cord in front of him.

So here Nick was, staring bewildered as he was slowly making himself go insane for what seemed like days beyond this point. Every hospital room, if it weren't locked or barricaded, was, weirdly enough, the exact same as the hospital room that he came out of himself. It looked like everything was left in the exact same position as Nick had left his room, which made him go a little bit more mad. There was no way that he was walking in circles, for he was definitely walking in a straight direction.

That was, until he lost the direction he was originally going, through his state of anger.

A line of explicit words left his lips, before he eventually paused in his walking. He leaned against a wall and slid down, feeling exasperated from poor attempts to freedom. 

I just want to go home.

“You’re back for another session?”

Niki looks up. Floris stands above her, greeting her with a soft hand. She picks his hand up, and in turn they both walk into his office. 

He lays his clipboard on the coffee table that sat between them, and goes to lock the door from the exit of his room, before promptly and respectfully sitting down at his side of the table. Niki sits in front of him, legs crossed ever so daintily, swaying back and forth. She gives him a big grin, as if expecting him to begin the hour.

“You are irresistible.” Floris says, his arms gripping the sides of his chair. “So beautiful, sitting like that in front of me.”

Niki’s cheeks turn a pale red, turning her head to the side as Floris uttered compliments from her softly. “You are too kind,”

Floris runs a hand through his painstakingly soft hair, and leans back in his seat, as if expecting her to come closer. “We’ve only been at this for four sessions but you’ve already claimed a seat in my heart.”

Niki’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of red and she turns to look at him, now. She takes her coat off and hangs it off the side of her chair, before standing up and going to meet him, who sat lazily in his chair with his legs spread gently apart, ever so masculine. She begins to unzip her dress, biting her lip as she couldn’t reach the zipper as soon as it reached the middle of her back. Floris stares at her, a foxy grin coming from his mouth.

“Turn around and kneel for me, Niki.” Floris says, dauntingly. 

She did as asked, and the Dutch man unzips her dress. Niki feels lightly more exposed, her white button up underneath slowly beginning its descent as she began to unbutton her top. More and more clothes smoothly lowered from her body, and Floris was only in awe at her back.

From there on, the hour began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH guys!!!! i finally found my groove and i think i portrayed a good lot of it today in this chapter :)  
> i'm so incredibly blessed for your comments, they really have lifted my days on editing and writing this new update. if you understood the reference going on for sapnap, you're amazing. if not - i recommend looking up the origins of the 'backrooms'. i'm so happy i could finally reference and create my own storyline for all of these characters.
> 
> see you all next update :)


	6. Stealth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ! !  
> i'd like to apologize for the lack in updates in nearly a month ! i'll be honest when i say that this chapter was sort of difficult to write, as i had jampacked several ideas but eventually came up with this garbled mess :,) i hope it's still up to standards.  
> i hope to come back to updating more soon! <3
> 
> (ps, i began writing other DNF fics ... if you'd like to check 'em out *wink*)

Jeb stands outside his office room with a slouched posture. George teeters towards him and watches Schlatt with deeming eyes.

“Yeah?”

The mutton-chopped man led him into his office and promptly shut the door behind him, leaving George feeling anything but propitious. Jebediah sat down in his spinning chair and let it slide gently across the floor, eventually tufting against the drawer behind his desk. George took a gander around Jebediah’s room - the ceiling was a dark hale navy, lit up with yellow recessed lights. On a single wall laid a gray, wooly texture - marking it as his accent wall. It all deemed a little grotesque in George’s eyes.

“You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?”

The brit rolls his eyes and raises a brow. “No,”

The two stare at one another in silence. Thereupon Jebediah frowns.

“I’ll give you a second chance.”

“What?”

“A second chance at talking to Dream,” Schlatt says all too calmly. “I was going to proceed with the electroshock therapy but I’m giving you a second chance.”

George nods, and his executive continues, “If he doesn’t talk by the end of the week, we’re going through with this my way.”

Alastair shuts the door behind him and the miniature toddler totters beneath him. He picked Toby up and gently laid him in his crib. Just then Toby curls up in his crib and promptly falls fast asleep.

“There’s something up with you,” Alastair says to Toby, but mainly to himself. “You’re not normal.”

Well. Obviously.

He studied Toby’s facial features. Then thought about Schlatt’s facial features. All too similar. He looked at the ram horns attached to his head, and reached over to touch them. It seemed like Tubbo noticed, and promptly pulled away from the other male. Alastair thus moved back, and frowned once more. Taking a quick look around the room, Alastair’s eyes fixated on the camera turned directly on him and took a step back from the crib.

Eventually, with much thought, Alastair took a further step back and tumbled out of Toby’s room.

Niki pulled the straps of her slip dress back on.

She turned to Floris and her cheeks, dainty pink, flushed a soft red. The Dutchman stared at her in utter empathy and awe, moving not so much as a muscle, but his beating heart thumping as fast as it could. He admired her features - the way her body slipped so easily in between his, and as the way their hands connected as he pushed her against the coffee table, or against the back wall, or even just on the floor.

“Fundy, you quit staring.”

With that being said, the male stumped back into reality and looked the woman in the eye. “I just can’t resist you, Niki.”

“We’ve got only five minutes remaining.” The girl said, mildly unbothered. She stared at the clock on the wall, trying to make herself look as neat as possible before returning home to Minx.

Floris frowned, and went to slip his clothes back on. Odd. Why was she acting so?

He buttoned up his white top and adjusted the collar. She waited patiently for him to finish, as the small alarm on his watch rang for their session to end. The blonde woman in front of him tiptoed closer, slinking her arms around his neck as he slithered his thin, yet muscled arms around her frail waist. Whilst doing so, Niki peppered small kisses on his neck, careful enough to not leave a mark.

“What are you to do about Minx?”

Niki quits moving, her lips once on Floris’ neck, now poised directly above it emitting a soft heat against him.

“I’m not too sure yet.”

Floris purses his lips, squeezing her waist and her bottom generously before the two pull apart. Eventually, he takes his time to unlock their room door and they both step out, several feet apart so as to look as inconspicuous. He leads her out to the front desk and to the front door and Niki leaves without leaving a single glance or a look behind her.

Fundy couldn’t tell if he was more hurt, or understanding.

By this point, Nick has moved past uttering explicit phrases and words, as well as throwing things around in anger. Now, he’s just tired. Waiting. Tired of trying. But until he finds closure of what attacked him and finding out whether George is alright, it was worth persevering for. 

He decides to take a gander, and opens a hospital room.

Unbeknownst to him, he finds himself pampered in a room separate but not. The bed is clean. The bathroom is in tip-top shape, and the lights layered in the room let out, not an iridescent hum-buzz, but a soft neon purple.

Purple? Of all colors, too.

He noticed a glass bottle, similar to those of pop cans or iced tea bottles, filled to the brim with water that was discolored. The plastic covering labeled, ‘Victoria’s Kitchen’. He tightly pressed his lips together and popped open the bottle - the lid letting out a light crick as it popped open. Sniffing the top, he expected the stench of a strong juice but was not truthfully expecting the solid smell of almond. 

Almond?

Almond flavored water, he thought, I mean nothing could go wrong from water. 

Taking a look around, the purple light shimmering above him, he took a swift chug. Downing about half the glass, he grimaced and pulled the bottle away from his lips and stared at the oddly colored drink. The smell and taste was overwhelming, completely unlike almond milk. He pursed his lips tight and closed the bottle quickly. Setting the bottle aside, he blocked off the room entrance with a table, locked said door, and sighed. Taking a breath, he went forward and took a seat on the hospital mattress. 

Wondering if it was worth taking a short power nap, the Texan leaned back against the bed frame and shut his eyes.

It’s late at night. Surrounding coworkers came and went, walking forward to Alastair’s area and said goodbye for the night, and it was until Liam Heneghan poked his shoulder and prodded his elbows on the brit’s table. Alastair smiles softly, and continues typing away at his typewriter, mindlessly wondering and wandering through his files to complete essays upon essays with the research he’d been conducting over ages, some of which started to include Toby -- and some of which included angrily retyping entire essays due to a misspelled word.

“HBomb,” Alastair finally says, feeling a pricking sense of discomfort with the other male staring him down. “What are you up to?

“You know you’ve been working for a while, right?” Liam remarks. “You’ve done enough work three people altogether would’ve finished in a day.”

“And? You’re not my boss.”

HBomb seemed lightly taken aback that his friend gave him a short response. Standing straight, the male huffed and crossed his arms.

“It’s a Friday night,”

Alastair hummed in response, typing nonsense away onto his writer.

“I’m beginning to wonder if you’re truly typing on that typewriter or if you’re just writing me a love letter. Click, click, click.”

With even a simple sentence, Alastair snorted lightly and turned to face Liam with his swivel chair. He grinned up at the American, who leaned against a desk cubicle wall. “You’re mental,”

“Says you,” Liam purrs lightly. “You’re insane. You’ve got to be tired, hm?”

“I suppose I am,” Alastair turned his head and took note of all the manila folders, papers, and written works splayed across his small desk. “I’m just working on this stuff that way I could get out early tomorrow.”

“Have any plans?” 

Alastair thinks.

And he thinks about Toby.

“Not really, just figured I need a day off.” 

Liam nods briefly before pulling himself off the cubicle wall. “Alright. I’m out for the night. You want to come with? Maybe grab a drink with me and some of the guys?”

Alastair looks around the nearly empty office, catching sight of his other co workers such as Ponk, Sam, and Jack all chatting with one another as they hung around waiting for Liam. He turns towards his work and shook his head. “Got to finish this up. Maybe next time, yeah?”

Liam pursed his lips, but nodded. He zipped up his coat and left Alastair with a soft goodbye.

Then Alastair was alone. He looked at his work, and the empty office around him, before standing up abruptly. He shuffled his papers and work materials into a single stack, and grabbed his coat from the behind of his chair. He slid on his leather coat and brown hat, then tip toed towards the backrooms. Wandering into the security office, he takes note of the empty room, and goes to lock the door from the outside, just to make sure no one catches sight of Alastair and his procedure to make way into Toby’s room.

Gliding down the white walls smoothly, he made sure that no one could hear him - if anyone was even still at the laboratory. As he made way towards Toby’s room, he heard the sound of a light drilling come forth. Then heard Schlatt’s laughter from a far. Squinting down the dim hallway, he catches sight of Jebediah and a tall, skinny male in a bright white laboratory coat. The tall male wore strawberry blonde hair, shoulder length and tied in a loose updo. He stood at the nearing same height of Jeb, both being equally as tall as Alastair was.

He made no movement, stealthily hidden behind the corridor wall. He tiptoed further into where the tall male and Jeb stood, wondering why he was laughing so cruelly, as well as the bright lights flickering from their room. It was no party for sure, but it made Alastair nervous.

Finally making near the entrance of their room, he catches sight of Dream, bound against a hospital bed with electrode pads pressed against his skull. The boy was convulsing, which made Alastair shudder. His mouth hung open lightly, saliva dripping from the sides. The wings that perched on Dream’s shoulders were twisted in an odd fold underneath him, which made the tall male cringe from where he stood, hiding.

Pitching a step forward, he retreats back towards Toby’s room, and lightly twists the knob upon entrance. Suddenly, the lights go on in the dim hallway, and Alastair is left frozen in fear with his hands still gripped tightly on the doorknob.

He woke up.

No, this was a dream for sure. The neon purple lights were long gone, but in place of natural light sat a window. Outside in the air, the sky grew a painfully thick red, almost as if a fire set dust particles covered the sunlight. He dreams, and dreams some more. Nick sat up from his odd sitting position in which he sat in when he fell into a slumber. He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping for, but the room around him had changed. Of course, it still looked like a dimly lit hospital room, but the window settling to a darkened red unsettled the lone boy. The room itself was painted in black and white vertical stripes with a stench similar to that of the almond water Nick drank to keep himself hydrated - though he felt more dehydrated than ever due to the odd taste and smell it gave off. 

Nick stood up from the bed, and slipped his boots back on. When he looked up once more, he stood face-to-face, or truthfully, stood face-to-chest, to a tall creature that stared down at him with a lazar green and red eye.


End file.
